


When a Morty Loves a Morty

by Dorkinatrix



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuse, Adult Morty, Angst, Character Death, Citadel of Mortys, Citadel of Ricks, Family Drama, Future, Future Fic, Harem, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morty - Freeform, Morty/Morty - Freeform, Murder, Needles, Science Experiments, Surgery, Torture, electric shock, evil morty - Freeform, megaseeds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkinatrix/pseuds/Dorkinatrix
Summary: All Ricks are now dead of old age. All Mortys are now 24-years-old. An adult Evil Morty now rules over a citadel of adult Mortys. Having declared himself "Mortysexual", he assembles a harem comprised of what he has deemed "the hottest versions of himself." Morty/Evil Morty/Blond Morty/Buff Morty/Tap Dancing Morty. Mortycest. Explicit. Dumb and creepy.





	1. After the Divorce

"Everybody is a Genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree. It will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." -Albert Einstein

Chapter 1: After The Divorce

At the age of 24, Morty was a gangly, awkward man, with a head of curly brown hair, and a rushed, nervous way of speaking. He worked for an advertising firm, where he sat in a cubicle, wore a yellow tie everyday, and went overworked and underappreciated by his abrasive, emasculating boss.

In the evenings, he came home, removed the yellow tie, and watched TV in the living room with the volume turned up, while his abrasive, emasculating wife, Jessica, loudly fucked other guys in their bedroom. She did not love him. She had never loved him. In hindsight, hypnotizing her into liking him with Rick's old science stuff might not have been the most mature decision. Jessica may have been pretty but she was also vapid and horrible. The hypnotism mites in her brain, which forced her to pretend like she loved Morty, might have been dying, and their effects, slowly wearing off. OR they might have been alive and well, fat and feasting upon her suppressed disgust toward him. Either way she was still vapid and horrible. Morty found himself hating her more and more every day. Still, he did not have the nerve to divorce her, he merely ignored her infidelity until the day that she came to him, arm-and-arm with some guy that she had been "secretly" screwing, and served him the divorce papers.

It was around this time that Morty lost his job at the advertising firm, due to downsizing and layoffs. On top of that, Jessica got basically everything in the divorce. Morty just sat back and passively allowed her to take it. None of it meant very much to him, anyway. Not the furniture. Not the appliances. Not the refrigerator magnets, the lawnmower, or the pictures of them together. All of it was meaningless. Morty kept only a few suitcases full of his own clothes, and a box of old science stuff that had once belonged to his grandpa, Rick. The rest he had no use for.

After the divorce, Morty moved into his sister, Summer's, garage, which had once been his parents' garage and the location of Rick's workshop. In the absence of the eccentric scientist, this place was sad and lonely; empty except for the washer and dryer, and a sad, shitty cot that Summer had set out for Morty to sleep on. The grey walls of the empty garage felt like they were closing in on him.

Morty cried while he unpacked his meager suitcases. Though as he did so, he could not help but feel that this situation was his punishment for trying to play God. Scratch that, he thought. There is no God. This situation is my punishment for trying to p-p-play Rick. Aw jeese...I mean... isn't love j-j-just a chemical drive that compels animals to breed o-o-or something like that? Was it so wrong to t-try and force someone to love me? How else is anybody supposed to love me? Aw jeese, Rick, I don't even love me!

Summer knocked on the door and entered the garage cautiously, carrying a laundry basket. She had put on some weight and now wore her red hair in a short mom bob. There was an ash blond toddler at her heels, playing with a rubix cube.

"You ok, Morty," Summer asked him as she put the laundry basket down on the washing machine and started picking through it.

The ash blond toddler solved the rubix cube and then through it down on the floor in disgust.

"Y-yeah," Morty sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I'm just, y-y-you know...thinking about the good old days, reminiscing. I'm thinking, remembering the past...but you know what maybe I-I-I should be thinking about the future instead and just focus on being cool uncle Morty who lives in the garage. And then when little...little..."

"Nicolas," Summer reminded him, indicating the ash blond toddler as he dissembled the rubix cube and spread it's plastic pieces out onto the floor.

"And then when little Nicolas get's a little older...we can go on adventures, and get ice cream, and j-j-just have, you know a good time, a good, just a really rewarding nephew a-and uncle relationship. Aw jeese, Summer, we just be like Morty and Nick...solving space crimes, getting into all kinds of...all kinds of h-h-hijinks and shenanigans. We could just me Morty and Nick, Nick and Morty," Morty said.

"That's very sweet, Morty," Summer said. "But we do need you out of our garage, eventually. Hemorrhage was going to turn it into a weight room before you moved in."

"Aw, jeese, Summer. I was thinking more like, I should live in here for the rest my life," Morty said.

"Morty, you can't live here for the rest of your life," Summer informed him with annoyance.

"W-why not? Hemorrhage can still turn it into a gym. I don't take up a lot of space I-I-I don't even care. I can just like...I can spot him. For like safety and stuff...I can be useful. I can be a-a useful guy. I could just be, you know, useful uncle Morty who lives in the garage slash weight room, always...always spotting people. Always giving people towels," Morty blathered.

"Morty. Stop it, please, ok? You can stay for a couple of weeks until you get your shit together and find an apartment to move into. You can't stay for the rest of your life."

"Please, Summer, I don't want to live alone! I don't want to be a-a-alone with these thoughts in my head and no one there! I'm gonna' hurt myself, Summer, I'm gonna' kill myself!" Morty shouted spastically, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

"Morty! Calm the fuck down!" Summer shouted, pushing him off of her and backing away from him. "Ok, you're on the road to becoming a sad sack like dad after mom left him."

Morty sat down on the cot, put his face and his hands and started bawling. Summer abandoned the laundry basket, knelt to retrieve Nicolas from the floor, and crept quietly out of the room. Morty was too wrapped up in his misery to notice her leave.

"...Oh, J-Jessica...," Morty murmured between sobs. He was only vaguely aware of the door creaking shut as Summer exited the room.

...

When it was time for dinner, Morty crept out of the garage and shuffled into the living room awkwardly. His eyes were red from crying, his face was patchy and unshaven, and his curly brown hair was disheveled.

He sat down at the familiar kitchen table, looking at the framed family photographs which decorated the walls. There was a picture of his teenaged self posing for a photographer with Summer, his parents, and Rick. There was also a picture of Summer and Hemorrhage on their wedding day, dressed in scant, post-apocalyptic rags and armor. Summer's veil was crown of bones, and between the two of them, the couple held the roasted head of a slain mutant, instead of a piece of cake.

Morty piled meatloaf and potatoes onto his plate. Because he was depressed, he took a little more than he would have usually.

"Woah there, little guy. You're gonna eat me out of house and home," Hemorrhage commented jokingly. He was a blond, big guy, with a smooshed, ugly face. Though still muscled from a previous life of constant warfare, he wore normal clothes and a conservative hairstyle. There was no hint of the post apocalyptic hell he had come out of about him. He looked just like a normal guy, your run-of-the-mill suburban dad.

"Aw jeese, aw man, sorry," Morty replied quietly, pushing some potatoes back out of his plate, and into the serving bowl. "I guess I was just trying to fill up this big hole in my heart that I have now."

"Jesus, Morty, way to be depressing," Summer said, wrangling a squirming Nicolas into his highchair.

Morty ate his meatloaf and potatoes silently, trying his very best not to be depressing; trying his very best not to start crying again over his food and kill everyone's vibe. He listened to Summer and Hemorrhage talk to each other about their boring day, deriving comfort from their presence. It felt good to be a part of a real family again, even if he just got to be the weird, unwelcomed uncle, squatting in the garage.

Nicolas squirmed in his highchair. Summer walked over to him and picked him up.

"How's the food, Morty?" she asked him, because he had not said anything to her since the "hole in my heart" statement at the beginning of the meal.

"It was good," Morty replied simply. "Thank you, thanks for having me."

He stood up and walked back to the garage, blinking back tears.

The instant the garage door snapped shut behind him, he heard Hemorrhage and Summer start talking about him:

"Your weird-ass brother better not be staying here for longer than a week," Hemorrhage said.

"Hey, watch what you say about my brother," Summer snapped back angrily. "Morty's always been there for me. When we were kids he always knew what to say to make me feel better when I was sad and if the shoe was on the other foot, I know that he'd let me stay here as long as I wanted...and you know what, I don't even care what you say, I'm going to tell him that he can stay as long as he needs to."

"Summer, if you tell him that, he'll never leave!" Hemorrhage shouted back in exasperation.

"I can't leave him alone, Hemorrhage!" Summer shouted back, choking back tears. "Can't you see? If I leave him alone he's going to kill himself! Just like my dad did after mom left him!"

"Summer, I can't have an unemployed crazy man living in my house!"

"Oh, now it's your house?"

"Summer, he can't-"

"So, what are you going to do, leave me? Leave me like they all do! Leave me like my dad did when he shot himself in the head! Leave me like my mom did when she fucked off to go fuck around with aliens in outer space! I'm not going to abandon my baby brother in his time of need just so that you can have your stupid garage gym!"

"You know Summer, since I married you, all you do is bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch-bitch-bitch! After a week, I want him out of my house! It's your choice Summer, him or me!"

"Then, I choose Morty! I'll choose Morty every time!"

With those words, the couple's shouted arguement faded to a bitter silence.

Feeling shame and guilt for being the cause of this argument, Morty hung his head. He didn't want to stay in a place where he wasn't wanted. He didn't want to cause Summer and the family any trouble.

Morty opened the box full of Rick's old science stuff, which had been sitting on the dryer. He picked through the items carefully, until he found the one that he had been looking for: an inter-dimensional camera phone. It had a lot of number and letter keys on it and was made of a glossy, red metal. Morty dialed the number for directory assistance, and a projector screen popped up above the keyboard. A blob-like, green alien, with a lot of wriggling tentacles greeted him in a business-like tone:

"Hello, inter-dimensional directory assistance."

"Uh, yeah...I need a-a number for a real estate office at The Citadel of Ricks," Morty stammered.

"The Citadel of Ricks is now 'The Citadel of Mortys'," The green alien informed him. "I'll put you through."

The screen flashed and then changed so that a Morty wearing a suit and tie had replaced the green alien.

"Hello there. I'm just a-a, I'm just a-a-a-a regular Real Estate Agent Morty," Real Estate Agent Morty introduced himself, adjusting his yellow tie.

"Yeah, I need...a-a apartment on The Citadel of Morty's. Nothing fancy, just, you know, a regular shitty apartment for a regular shitty, piece of shit. I want just like, just like the w-w-worst piece of shit you've got. I'm probably just going to kill myself in it so I'm not, you know, I'm not picky."

"Whatever you say, Sad Sack Morty," Real Estate Agent Morty interjected flippantly.

"Don't call me that."

"I know just the place," Real Estate Agent Morty informed him. "One bedroom, ground floor, studio apartment on Morty Street. Its dirt cheep and nobody wants to live there."

"Thanks, I'll take it," Morty said.

Morty spent the next hour or so; wiring currency; filling out paperwork, and finally, signing the lease. At the time, he had been too depressed to be very worried about paying the rent on the apartment. He figured he'd just find a job on the citadel. Any job. I didn't even matter to him which one. After all, how much more degrading and terrible could any job have been than slaving his days away in an advertising firm? Unfortunately, Morty was about to have that question answered in the most devastating and horrible of ways possible.

After all, there are far shittier places to find yourself than an office cubicle .


	2. The Sad, Sad Tale of Evil Morty

That night, Evil Morty had a vivid nightmare. In the dream, he imagined that he was still a teenager, and that Rick was still alive and torturing him with megaseeds. He remembered crying his eyes out every day, overcome with unbearable agony, as Rick callously, and relentlessly inflicted that familiar, intense, unspeakable pain upon him. In the dream, Evil Morty was crying and crying, tears and snot rolling down his cringing face, as Rick hooked him up to the machine that had, for the longest time, shot ten megaseeds up his butt a day.

"Suck it up, Morty, you-you-you URP, you little bitch! Do you want to be as smart as me or what?"

"I-I-I don't want to be smart anymore!" Evil Morty wept, his belly painful, tight and stretched, from large, spikey megaseeds pressing against his tortured insides. He was always sick, and nauseous and hurt due to Ricks obsession with making him smarter; with making him a suitable replacement Rick, who could rule the universe after his death. "J-j-j-just make the pain stop!"

"Well, it's too late for you t-to change your mind now, Morty! If I lower the dosage now, you-you-you'll die of the URP, of the withdraw symptoms, Morty!"

In his dream, Evil Morty hung his head and wept pitifully, remembering the familiar pain as the machine was turned on and the seeds were administered. Rick didn't even care that he was in pain. He didn't even care that instead of going to school, Evil Morty was crying and crying everyday, until his eyes were red and he couldn't breath from the snot.

"O-o-one day, Rick! You're gonna be sorry that you put me through this!" Evil Morty declared shrilly between bouts of pain-wracked sobbing.

"Whatever, Morty, you-you little bitch! Do you-do you-want to be the smartest man in the universe, Morty, or-or URP what? No pain, no gain URP, Morty. You'll thank me when you're older."

...

Evil Morty opened his eyes, waking up with a start and jumping out of bed. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he realized that it was the present day and that he, Evil Morty, was his present age. Now 24-years-old, Evil Morty had become the King of The Citadel of Mortys, better known as "King Morty". Evil Morty smiled as he remembered that every cruel, callous, unfeeling, mean, vindictive, shit-faced, evil, evil version of Rick was now dead and rotting in the ground and that he, Evil Morty, was now, as Rick had once promised, the smartest man in the universe.

Evil Morty dressed in a black suit with a yellow tie, then, exited his bedroom and walked to the thrown room, where he sat down on a tall, golden thrown, and listened boardly as an inferior Morty briefed him on the daily goings on of the citadel.

"Yes, yes, whatever," Evil Morty said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Have you brought me a-a replacement for the harem Morty, t-that-that sexy-ass, dead harem Morty that I URP," Evil Morty paused to belch. Then, drank deeply from a metal flask that he kept in his pocket. "That I killed yesterday?

"Ah, y-y-yes, my lord," the other Morty stammered nervously, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. "Bring in the uh...bring in the harem Morty!"

A couple of Mortys entered the thrown room, between them, they held a third Morty, this one in chains and tuxedo with shiny, black, shoes.

"You. Who are you?" Evil Morty inquired of the chained Morty

"Aw jeese, I'm just a-a-a regular, just a regular old-Tap Dancing Morty!" Tap Dancing Morty informed him with a terrified simper.

"Dance for me, you stupid, inferior piece of shit," Evil Morty instructed indifferently.

Tap Dancing Morty was released from his chains and he did a few tap dancing moves, clicking his metal-studded shoes against the marble floor of the thrown room for Evil Morty's amusement.

"Hm...I like it," Evil Morty decided after a brief for contemplation. "Congratulations, Tap Dancing Morty, you just earned yourself a-a one way ticket to not being executed for your crimes against the Citadel. Welcome to the harem."

"Th...thank you, my lord," Tap Dancing Morty groveled, kneeling at Evil Morty's feet."

"Don't thank me," Evil Morty said coldly. "After a week, you'll-you'll be wishing that I killed you. You'll be praying for death, you dumb, worthless piece of shit. Aw jeese, Tap Dancing Morty, you-you'll be begging me to kill you URP."

Evil Morty downed another swig of the liquid in his his flash, and then returned the bottle to his pocket.

"Aw jeese, y-your scaring me, King Morty," Tap Dancing Morty stuttered in reply.

Evil Morty snapped his fingers and shouted: "Leave us!"

The guards exited the thrown room, so that now, Tap Dancing Morty and Evil Morty were alone. Evil Morty rose from his thrown chair, and descended the short flight of steps so that he was eye-level with Tap Dancing Morty. Though the two men were the same height and looked exactly the same, the power differential between them was clear. Tap Dancing Morty cringed and his breathing hitched as sweat prickled his brow. Evil Morty was staring at him with cold, empty, sadistic eyes.

"G-god damn, I'm a sexy-ass motherfucker. Just look at my...just look at my sexy-ass self," Evil Morty moaned, drawing close to his new harem acquisition. He untied Tap Dancing Morty's yellow bowtie and then started unbuttoning the white collared shirt underneath. Now Tap Dancing Morty was shaking. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as Evil Morty brushed his scrawny, skinny, hairless chest with one hand. "Just look a-at this shit. This shit is why I became a mortysexual. Forget women. Forget men. I just want Mortys. Mortysexuals to the end. Mortysexuals every day. One hundred percent. F-for life."

Evil Morty ran his fingers through Tap Dancing Morty's curly brown hair, as he drew close and kissed his doppelganger on the mouth. Silent tears streamed down Tap Dancing Morty's face. He clearly disliked this selfish, forced touch.

Evil Morty put his mouth close to Tap Dancing Morty's ear and whispered: Aw jeese, make no URP...make now mistake traitor. You will pay for your crimes against the citadel."

"Wait...wait a minute I-I-I know you!" Tap Dancing Morty accused, jerking away from Evil Morty's hot breath on his ear. He was beginning to recognize this Morty's cold, deliberate way of speaking; his Rick-like belch. Tap Dancing Morty had heard a Morty speak this way only once before; on what had been the most horrible night of his life. He knew now who this Morty was, and, as the realization hit him, silent, angry tears steamed down Tap Dancing Morty's face.

"You killed Summer and Nicolas!" Tap Dancing Morty proclaimed shrilly.

"Aw geese, Tap Dancing Morty. Well, to be fair, I only wanted to kill the kid. I only killed the stupid bitch because she got in my way," Evil Morty said. "You see baby Nicolas...has a set of particular brainwaves..."

"What?"

"Let me put this a way that even an idiot will understand. He's too smart. When he get's older, he'll be a threat to my supremacy. That's why I'm having all of the different versions of him killed in every reality," Evil Morty said.

"He was just a kid...he was m-m-my-my little buddy...," Tap Dancing Morty said.

"Yes, and for your irritating attempt at trying to protect him, I will make sure that you suffer most egregiously. Do I have to mention that again," Evil Morty said and then he laughed. "Tap Dancing Summer never saw it coming, after all, I look just like her stupid brother that she stupidly trusts so much." Evil Morty raised his voice an octave in an attempt at imitating Summer's voice as she pleaded for her life and the life of her child: "Oh Morty, Morty! Why would you do this, Morty! Why would you do this? Hahaha...Aw man, stupid bitch never saw it coming...haha...stupid bitch..."

...

"You don't have to go yet, Morty," Summer said, giving Morty a hug. "You can stay a little bit longer, if you want."

"Aw jeese, Summer," Morty replied sadly, averting his eyes from Hemorrhage's hateful gaze. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

Having said his goodbyes to Summer and the family, Morty packed his meager suitcases, strapped Rick's old portal gun to his wrist, and mentally prepared himself for his new life, in his shitty apartment, on The Citadel of Mortys. The thought of being alone in a room with his horrible suicidal thoughts was almost too much to bear. He took a deep breath and blinked back tears, muttering a sarcastic and whistful: "Wubba-lubba-dub-dub," under his breath as he clicked the button on the portal gun. A swirling green portal appeared in the living room. He stepped through it.

There was a dilapidated little apartment on the other side, with dirty, bare floors, and dripping, grey walls. The windows were bared. Through the gaps in the resulting metal cage, Morty saw a scrawny Junky Morty with bags under his eyes and a hypodermic needle sticking out of his arm, lurking outside.

"Oh jeese...," Morty muttered nervously, glancing around the apartment with apprehension. Real Estate Agent Morty had not been kidding when he had said that the apartment for rent was indeed shitty enough for a shitty piece of shit.

Morty put his luggage down, a Chihuahua-sized, monster roach with several dozen staring eyes scurried past his feet and he squealed, darting away from it. Already, his resolve to punish himself by staying in this apartment was waning.

Desperate to numb his senses, Morty left the apartment and embarked upon a quest for alcohol.


End file.
